


The Winchester Family Hunters

by DestielTheShipOfDreams



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 12, Castiel Saves The Day, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Hunter Castiel, Hunters & Hunting, M/M, Monster of the Week, Short One Shot, Team Free Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 04:10:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12290952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DestielTheShipOfDreams/pseuds/DestielTheShipOfDreams
Summary: If Sam, Dean and Cas were a united front as TFW and actually acted like a little hunter family. Contains Destiel as an established couple. Set in an alternate S12 if Mary had never come back and the BMOL had stayed in the UK.





	The Winchester Family Hunters

**Author's Note:**

> This is fairly mediocre but ah well. Kinda wrote this as a daydream opening for a super chill S12 that would have been 22 eps of pure TFW and Destiel domestic happiness. No Mary hate, I wrote this before S11 finished.

The breeze is light but purposeful, lifting the leaves around the dilapidated front porch and making the old hanging basket by the front door creak on its rusted chain. The paint on the wooden window frame is flaked off and faded to a mere echo of the colour it once was, as well as bleached a pale grey by the moonlight. Through the cracked, grimy glass of the window itself, shadows move across the quiet front room. One of them, the taller one, speaks in a murmur after pausing for a long moment.

 

“All quiet down here, although we still need to check the kitchen.”

 

The other shadow grunts in agreement and detaches from the wall, stepping into the moonlit centre of the room. Green eyes glint in a tired but alert face, scanning the corners and crannies.

 

“I dunno, Sam. I feel like I’m bein’ watched, which usually means I am, which usually means I’m about to get attacked by some souped up ghost.”

 

Sam steps into the moonlight too, shaking his long brown hair back from his amused eyes. “Cheerful as always, Dean.”

 

Dean grunts again, this time in dismissal, and starts to move towards the other side of the room. Sam speaks again, making Dean pause.

 

“Maybe you should check in with Cas? Haven’t heard from him since he went upstairs.”

 

Dean turns and raises his eyebrows at his brother. “Why’s it always gotta be me who makes the call, huh?”

 

Sam rolls his eyes, lips twitching, and Dean smirks too even as he draws a walkie talkie out of his pocket. Pressing the button, he speaks into it in a low voice.

 

Upstairs, a man stands at the window of a dusty, deserted bedroom. He’s peering down into the street, a furrow on his brow shadowing his ethereally blue eyes. His plaid-clad shoulders are strong and tense, feet set apart, fists curled loosely at his sides, yet his expression is pensive and only mildly worried. His head twitches as the walkie talkie in the back pocket of his worn jeans crackles quietly, and he turns from the window as he pulls it out and presses the button. The voice that issues out of it brings a gentle warmth to his eyes, although his face remains serious.

 

“Cas, all good up there?”

 

He replies very quietly, eyes trailing around the room carefully. “Yes, Dean, I think so. I haven’t checked the attic yet, that’s next. Are you and Sam OK?”

 

The device crackles again but Dean replies quickly, a little louder this time. “We’re fine. Don’t you think you oughtta wait for back up? Maybe you should-”

 

“Dean, I’m an angel of the Lord.”

 

Cas’s voice is impatient but firm and he silences the walkie talkie before Dean can protest, pushing it back into his pocket and shaking his head in fond exasperation. He carries a chair easily to where the trapdoor in the ceiling is, climbing onto it and reaching up to hoist himself lithely through the opening.

 

Downstairs, Dean purses his lips at his walkie talkie, shoving it back into his jacket pocket with a scowl that’s more for show than out of any real annoyance. He gestures for Sam to follow him as he once again moves towards the kitchen, hefting his shotgun into two hands.

 

“Come on, he’s fine,” Dean urges his brother. Sam follows after a moment, eyes twinkling with mirth.

 

“Sure you don’t wanna go hold his hand?” he asks in mock sympathy. Dean shoots him a sarcastic look.

 

“Sam, he’s an angel of the Lord,” he mimics in a deep voice, before wrinkling his nose. “And we don’t hold hands.”

 

“Sure, unless you’re cuddling on the sofa.”

 

Dean blushes but keeps his eyes firmly on the next room as they edge through the doorway into it. “I told you to delete that photo. It ain’t right to photograph sleeping people.”

 

“But you were so cute, come on-”

 

“Shut up, Sammy.”

 

Upstairs, Cas is thankfully unaware of the brothers’ bickering, although it wouldn’t surprise him. He walks slowly through the attic space, brushing cobwebs from his hair, eyes piercing through the gloom as though it’s broad daylight. He halts as he spots markings on the nearby wall, and steps closer to look properly. His head tilts in interest as he examines the crude symbols painted large and black.

 

His neck prickles and he whirls in time to see a menacing figure seemingly rising out of the dust and darkness, coalescing before him into a hulking mass with glowing eyes. It surges towards him and he dives out of its way, rolling and springing to his feet on the other side of the cramped space. Breathing hard, he watches the shape twist to face him, anticipating the movement as it swoops towards him once more. He darts to the side but reaches out and plunges a hand into the mass, hissing in pain as tendrils of smoke seem to wind up his arm. Wrenching back, he cradles his burned and blackened hand, not even watching as the injuries fade with his touch. He instead gazes up at the threatening creature, which seems just as affected by the contact as him but does not have the benefit of healing powers.

 

“You’re new,” Cas pants, stepping back as the creature hovers in the centre of the room.

 

In the kitchen two floors below, Sam and Dean are unaware of their comrade’s situation, poking into cupboards and looking under furniture.

 

“Man, I could go for a midnight snack,” Dean sighs, peering into the fridge. Sam snorts.

 

“Dude, I doubt you’ll find any clues in there. Come on, Scooby, try shifting the damn fridge instead of looking for snacks. Might be something behind it.”

 

Dean scowls but shuts the fridge and drags it out from the wall, huffing at the effort. He straightens up and examines the space behind it. Frowning, he looks closer.

 

“Sam, bring the flashlight. There is something here, on the wall.”

 

Sam steps up beside his brother, shining the flashlight on the markings splashed in dark writing across the peeling wallpaper. They both read them uncomprehendingly, exchanging a puzzled glance.

 

“You recognise those?” Sam asks worriedly. Dean shakes his head, troubled.

 

“Nope, but I’ll bet they don’t mean anything good.”

 

Upstairs, Cas has come to the same conclusion as he faces off against a huge, shapeless cloud of evil.

 

Cas’s unmarked hands fall to his sides, tense and ready, as his breathing slows to normal in mere seconds. He edges towards the trapdoor, eyes trained on the dark shape, which seems to be recovering as it grows in size and starts drifting towards him again, threatening but not charging.

 

“Psychically linked to me, I could feel that,” Cas muses out loud, still shuffling slowly backwards. “That’s what’s feeding you, you’ve attached yourself to me somehow. So you can’t harm me, or be harmed by me; it hurts us both to try. You do mean me harm though, that much is clear. You are malevolent.”

 

The creature swells and rushes him again, seeming to narrow and aim for his face. Cas drops through the trapdoor at the last minute, landing in a crouch. He straightens and stares up into the attic space, seeing the swirling forces gather for another attack.

 

“You were trying to possess me,” he says in surprise, before narrowing his eyes. “I’ve sworn off of being possessed, sorry. So... you link yourself, possess the target and then have them kill for you? But what’s stopping you from materialising without a host? What created the link between us?”

 

Cas blinks in understanding just as the glowing eyes appear above the trapdoor, burning with hatred. “The symbols. The symbols are inside my head, which means that you can use me as a conduit and a puppet. The symbols...”

 

The mass begins to pool out of the attic to form a cloud above him, bearing down, ready to consume him. Cas sucks in a breath and, shutting his eyes tightly, he brings two fingers to his own temple. A jolt runs through him just as the mass attacks and a moment later, the dark cloud is gone from around him. Cas opens his eyes, looking slightly dazed, but his attention sharpens a moment later as he hears a yell from downstairs.

 

In the kitchen, Dean swears loudly as the rock salt pellets appear to do no damage to the hulking, threatening mass of black smoke that’s just appeared in the middle of the room. Sam is on the other side of the creature, pinned in the corner of the room, his face frozen in fear.

 

“Dean, little help?” he grits out as the dark shape looms above him. Dean calls out to it, focusing on it, silently begging it to go for him instead. To his shock, it turns, seemingly distracted by his call more than the bullets. It swerves towards him instead, billowing and growing, about to consume him-

 

Dean finds himself bodily tackled and he grunts yet again as he slams into the wall, this time in pain and shock. Blinking, he sees that Cas has him pinned, face determined. A moment later, the angel has clapped a hand over his eyes. Dean makes a confused noise.

 

“Cas, what the-”

 

“Dean, keep your eyes closed until I tell you to open them. Do you understand?”

 

Dean is more than a little distracted by the authoritative snap to Cas’s voice and the warm press of him from knee to chest, but he nods quickly, resigned to literally blind trust. Cas steps back from him and touches his temple; Dean sucks in a breath as what feels like a miniature firework goes off inside his head. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter, feeling dizzy.

 

“Alright, I’ll take care of Sam. Just stay here.”

 

Cas darts away as soon as he says the words and Dean listens confusedly as Cas tells Sam to keep his eyes closed too. The sound of wind and crackling which seems to accompany the creature swells but then cuts off a moment later and Dean wants desperately to open his eyes, but if there’s one person he has absolute faith in, it’s Cas. And Cas told him to keep them closed. Cas repeats the instruction and Dean hears him moving around the suddenly still room, hears the sudden intake of breath from him as though he’s encountered something, hears and feels those dark forces gathering once more-

 

There’s the sound of the fridge shifting and Dean frowns in concern. What is Cas doing shifting the fridge around? Does he know that the creature is back? Dean opens his mouth to call a warning but just as before, the sounds and atmosphere which accompany the dark cloud seem to just switch off. There’s a beat of silence before Cas speaks.

 

“OK, guys, you can open your eyes.”

 

Dean does so immediately, pushing off from the wall as he looks his brother over. Sam seems unharmed but very confused. Dean shares the feeling. He turns his attention to the angel standing calmly in the centre of the room, also apparently not injured in any way. Dean breaks into a grin, savouring the answering smile as he strides over. Cas huffs out a laugh as Dean pulls him into a hug, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. Cas is grinning too as Dean pulls back, keeping his hands on Cas’s waist.

 

“What the hell did you do?” Dean asks, fingers digging into soft blue and yellow plaid. “To my head and to that thing.”

 

“Yeah, me too,” chimes in Sam, stepping up next to them. “Felt like something burst inside my mind. And why’d we need to keep our eyes closed?”

 

Cas squeezes Dean’s elbows before shifting back a step, letting the man’s hands fall from his sides. “There are symbols painted behind that fridge. In the attic too. They seem to be how the creature manifests in a physical form. Reading the symbols creates a psychic link with it and it then attempts possession of the reader. I had to erase the symbols from your minds and my own, but if anyone reads them again, it will be back.”

 

Dean and Sam frown in unison before the younger of the two speaks. “OK, so we need to destroy the symbols.”

 

Cas nods. “Yes. But we need to do so without looking at them. I suggest we invest in blindfolds.”

 

“Now we’re talking, gotta love a blindfold,” Dean smirks, winking at the angel. Cas shoots him a confused look and Sam sighs.

 

“Shut up, Dean. Cas, how d’you want to play this? I reckon we’ll need to go around in a team with one of us permanently blindfolded and ready to scrub the symbols off of the walls. The other two will be the person spotting the symbols and you, Cas, to immediately erase them from that person’s mind.”

 

Cas nods in agreement. “That’s a good plan. Dean, what do you think?”

 

Dean shrugs. “Sounds fine. You guys are the brains, not me.”

 

“That’s not true, you’re very intelligent,” Cas says softly, blue eyes filled with conviction. Dean colours a little but rolls his eyes.

 

“Thanks. Now, the important stuff: I dibs not wearing the blindfold.”

 

“But Dean, you said just now that you liked bli-”

 

“Shut up, Cas.”


End file.
